Seasons of change
by MPRose
Summary: One small change in first year has unexpected consequences for Harry and his friends. An AU that starts out slowly, and sticks close to the original, yet small changes can sometimes add up to change the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Seasons of change**

It was such a small, random thought that Harry voiced one cold December morning, not knowing what changes it was going to bring.

"Do you know how to send Christmas presents from Hogwarts?" he asked his two best friends hesitantly. He had been reluctant to ask them, as they would be the main recipients, of course, but as always, they were the first people he could think to ask for help.

It was a Saturday morning in Harry's first year, early in December, and the three friends were walking back to their Common Room after breakfast. The question brought Harry's friends up short, and they looked at him quizzically.

"By owl, I'd guess," said Ron, without giving it much thought.

"No, that's not what I mean. How would I buy the presents in the first place?"

"Well..." began Hermione, but then she trailed off. She looked at Ron, and then they both shrugged.

"I guess you can't really, if you're staying at Hogwarts," said Ron.

Harry looked down and nodded.

"It doesn't matter, though, does it?" asked Ron a bit uncomfortably, who himself had already written home to ask is mother for presents for Harry. "Everyone knows you're staying here, so no one will expect you to get them anything." He made sure to include himself and Hermione with a vague hand wave.

The girl next to him, nodded energetically in agreement.

"Yeah..." said Harry. "It's just... This is the first time I've money of my own, and can actually give people presents. I just wish..." He trailed off.

Silence fell following his words.

"I know!" Ron said after a while. "We could ask some other students-"

"Don't be silly, Ron," interrupted Hermione. "You can't just randomly ask people such a thing. It makes them think of presents, and whether they're going to get any themselves this year. And if they're not, they'll only be reminded of that, and be disappointed..."

As Hermione was explaining this, they suddenly noticed Neville step up behind them. He blushed.

"Sorry, guys, I forgot the password again." He pointed at the portrait hole in front of them. "Could you help me out?"

"It's 'blizzard'," Hermione answered promptly, and then all three friends sent Neville speculative looks, wondering if he had overheard what they had been talking about.

"Er... ah..." He blushed even more. "I'm not sure, either," he answered their unvoiced question, confirming that he had heard at least part of their conversation. "The only one who's ever sent me presents is my Great Uncle Algie, and he usually sends money, because he says he never knows what to get me." Seeing Harry frown, he ducked his head.

"Well, if toads are his idea of a good present, that might not be so bad," joked Ron.

Neville blushed even more. "Trevor's not so bad, really."

"Yeah, you can play hide and seek when he gets lost. Scabbers, on the other hand..." Ron looked at the lump in his robe pocket, where his rat lay sleeping. "Pathetic."

Neville smiled, eager to be included. "Oh! I thought of something. A couple years back, Gran twisted her ankle, and couldn't go to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping. So she had a Christmas catalogue delivered, and then ordered all her presents by owl post."

"Awesome!" Harry could not believe it was that simple. "So, how do you get this catalogue?"

At this, though, Neville drew a blank. "Sorry, I don't know."

Ron was quick to point out to Hermione that his idea of asking around had merit after all. She scrunched up her face, not liking to be outdone. One thing the boys had learned in the month they had been friends with her was that she always liked to know the right answers.

"Maybe we could ask a prefect," Hermione suggested the next morning, once they had reached the the Great Hall. She had to explain to the boys what she was talking about first, and Harry had to wonder whether she had been thinking about it the whole time.

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Let's ask Percy. That's the sort of useless trivia he'd know."

When they saw the older Weasley boy walk into the Great Hall a few minutes later, Ron jumped up from his seat, and hurried over to reach him first. That was his brother, after all. No reason why Hermione should outdo him on this.

Percy was talking to one of the female Ravenclaw prefects when he saw his youngest brother rush over to him, his two constant companions of late not far behind.

"Excuse me, please. There seems to be some problem I'm supposed to deal with," he told his companion.

Ron did not wait for her to reply, and started bombarding Percy with his questions as soon as he reached him. It took the older Weasley boy a while to understand the confusing rambling of his younger brother, who was soon joined by two other voices, neither of which seemed to clarify things. The bushy-haired girl was constantly trying to shut the boys up and start from the beginning, but they were not letting her. Harry Potter, who seemed to be the centre of the problem somehow, was trying to apologise and dismiss the question altogether, and none of it was helping.

Flushed and confused, and by no means wanting to be embarrassed in front of his companion, Percy did his best to understand, and when he finally did, and realised he did not know the answer to their question, he did the only thing he knew to help: he turned towards Professor McGonagall, who was conveniently close by, about to join the other Professors at the High Table for breakfast.

"Professor," he asked, "would you have a moment?"

Harry, awfully embarrassed now about how far his question was taken, tried even more to interrupt, but once again, it was no use. Percy, with some help from Hermione, explained to McGonagall that Harry wanted to order a Christmas catalogue so he could buy Christmas presents from school.

The usually strict professor's eyes softened at hearing this. "Oh, Mr Potter, what a lovely idea. It's very simple, actually. You need to write to one of the post offices – the one in Hogsmeade should be the easiest, I think – and they'll send it to you. You can even pay by mail. If you fill in a subscription form, they can take the money directly from your vault."

"Professor, how does it work?" That was Hermione, asking the questions Harry wanted to know the answers to. "I mean, does the catalogue belong to a shop? Or can you only buy the items in the catalogue by mail? And what if we wanted to buy something from another shop-"

"No, no, Miss Granger. The catalogue lists items from many different shops – the most popular ones are all in there. It wouldn't be very convenient otherwise, would it? Most shops listed are from Diagon Alley, but there's a few others as well, a couple from Hogsmeade, even.

"They bring out several catalogues over the year, I think, though the Christmas one is probably the most popular. But if you wanted to, you could do all your shopping by owl post – over the summer, when you're back in the muggle world, for example."

They thanked their teacher before returning to their breakfast, Hermione all the while going over the intriguing new possibilities.

Harry could just imagine how an annual catalogue subscription from the magical world would go over with his relatives, so he was not much interested in that, but he resolved to send Hedwig to Hogsmeade for the Christmas catalogue immediately after breakfast.

It took a few days of writing back and forth, and filling in order forms, but less than a week later, just before the first major snowfall hit Hogwarts, Hedwig delivered the catalogue with the morning post during breakfast.

Harry refrained from opening the package in front of everyone, still remembering the reaction to his broom delivery earlier that year. He had planned to open it after retiring for the night, in the privacy of his dorm room. Presents were supposed to be a surprise, after all. It would not do to pick them out in front of an audience.

His friends had other ideas, however. They wanted to have a look as well, and persuaded Harry to open the package in the common room. Harry did not see the point in that. He wanted to pick out presents for his two best friends, after all, and he could hardly do that with the two of them present. At least, he could get an idea what they liked, he thought resignedly.

The catalogue itself was a rather thick volume with big, moving illustrations inside, they discovered with some awe.

"Oh, look, you can move them any way you like," said Hermione while jabbing one of the colourful illustrations with her wand. The image of a book that had drawn Hermione's attention really was moving as her wand movement directed.

"Try zooming in," said Harry, but then tried it himself. That worked too. "This book is really cool," he concluded.

Hermione nodded in agreement, while Ron seemed a little less enthusiastic, a little less impressed by another display of magic, which was not as unusual to him as it was to his friends.

Other people around them got interested as well, and came over to have a quick look, make some comments, or ask about it. Harry remembered to thank Neville, when the boy noticed the catalogue and smiled at him. Neville waved off the thanks embarrassedly, but clearly looked pleased.

They had a thorough look through the catalogue. Harry was impressed to discover items from a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies and found himself tempted to do some shopping for himself as well.

There were many more interesting things to discover. All sorts of sweets were listed – some he had tried on the Hogwarts express, and some he had never even heard of. There were also items from a rather intriguing shop called Zonko's Joke Shop, which was apparently found in Hogsmeade. Hermione also found herself drawn to the lengthy list of books and stationery. All in all, the catalogue kept them entertained for quite some time.

"So, have you made a list yet?" asked Hermione as they were getting ready to leave.

"A list?"

"Of the people you want to give presents to."

Harry gave her a telling look. She blushed.

"I meant other than us," she mumbled, then went on in a pedantic tone to cover up her embarrassment. "You need to write everyone's names down in a list. Then you can write down ideas for presents as they come, and when you've bought their present, you can cross them out of your list."

That seemed rather a lot of effort, when Harry really only planned to buy presents for two people.

"Blimey, Hermione, how many people did you have in mind?" Ron asked the question Harry had been thinking about.

"Well, I don't know. But with all the friends he's got, and his relatives-"

"Wait a second. I don't have many friends. And I'm definitely not getting anything for my relatives."

Hermione looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Hermione, what do you mean, he's got many friends – who are you talking about?" That was Ron, distracting Hermione from asking uncomfortable questions about his relatives, much to Harry's relief.

"Well, I don't know. But famous as he is, everyone seems to want to-"

"Those people don't count," interrupted Harry.

"Oh, I don't know," backtracked Hermione, "it's your list, isn't it? You should know who's on it and who isn't."

"Who's on your list, then?" asked Ron, less bothered than Harry about asking direct questions.

"Apart from you two," she almost swallowed the words, "there's my parents," she went on more evenly. "There's some other relatives, as well, but my parents take care of that." She scowled at the boys. "Oh, come on! You know I don't have any friends apart from you two."

"Er, well, same here," shrugged Harry. "So there's no need for big Christmas lists. No need to go overboard."

"I suppose, yes," agreed Hermione. "But even so – when you started talking about Christmas presents, I realised this is the first time I have people to give presents to. I mean, yes, I used to get something for my parents even before now, but usually it was something I had made myself. Now I can buy them something in the wizarding world. Oh, and my mum always gave me something to give my teachers-"

"You gave presents to your teachers?" Ron was appalled.

"Of course. Nothing big, just coffee or sweets – and cards, of course. Doesn't anyone do that at Hogwarts?"

"No. Well," Ron backtracked with a grimace, "the prefects do sometimes get something for the heads of their Houses."

"Oh." Hermione sounded disappointed.

Harry remembered his aunt buying presents for his and Dudley's teachers that his cousin got to give them, making sure that everyone saw Harry had no presents to give. Harry had hated hearing their gushing thanks to Dudley while they shot him uncomfortable looks.

He also remembered saving one of the greeting cards that Dudley had tried writing on but had to throw away because ha had misspelled the teacher's name on the first line. Harry had crossed out his cousin's writing, and had written his own thanks to his then favourite teacher.

The card had been a huge success – at least where the teacher was concerned. But then she had gone on and mentioned it to Harry's aunt. Suffice it to say, Harry had never done anything like that again.

"You know, Hermione, there's no reason why you shouldn't get a present for a professor, if you want," he told Hermione suddenly. "We grew up in the muggle world, and it's tradition there."

"You think?" Hermione perked up.

"Sure. Who did you have in mind?"

"I thought, maybe, Professor McGonagall. She was the one who came to my house and told my parents and me all about magic. And she's our Head of House-"

"And we asked her about ordering Christmas presents, and she actually knew what to do. Without her, I wouldn't be giving anyone any presents.

"I'm going to get Hagrid something, too," said Harry after a pause. "He was the one who introduced me to the magical world, like McGonagall did for you, Hermione. And he's my friend. We visit him every week."

"Good idea," agreed Hermione.

Ron only nodded, feeling left out.

"And I might get a little something for Neville, as well," Harry said quietly. "He doesn't seem to be receiving the best presents, does he? And I know what that's like." He rolled his eyes. "Plus, he was the one who told us about the catalogue."

Hermione beamed at him, while Ron looked a bit glum.

"So there you go. That's your list, then. Neville, Hagrid, your relatives-" She took a breath. "And us, I suppose," she finished softly.

"Forget my relatives," Harry told her more firmly than he intended to.

Hermione frowned. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No, it's not. I don't like them, and they don't like me. It's bad enough that we're all stuck with each other. We tend to get along better the less contact I have with them."

"Even so, Harry, they're your family."

Harry chanced a quick look at her. Her frown had not lessened. Ron, who knew a little more about what his relatives were really like, was avoiding looking at either of them.

"Hermione, let it go. That's just not the way things are between us," Harry finally said with a sigh.

For a while, that was the end of that discussion.

Soon enough, however, Hermione began prodding Harry about his relatives, trying to find out more about how they were treating him. She did not ask any direct questions, but he could tell her theories were getting more outrageous each day.

Harry decided to set her mind at ease before things went out of hand. "I'll be sending my relatives a card for Christmas," he mentioned a few days later, when they were discussing presents again.

Actually, he would be sending them a note, telling them that he would be staying at school for the holidays, but he suspected his relatives would think his absence the best present he could get them.

"You are?" Hermione sounded pleasantly surprised. Yet, she still had to push the issue. "Will you be sending any presents with it?" she asked a little too casually.

"No," Harry said forcefully. He sighed. "Hermione, I don't get along with my relatives. Please accept that and let it go."

"Well, yes, I understand that," she began in a high-pitched voice, then broke off.

Harry wondered how any child of two loving parents could possibly understand, but did not say anything.

"But you live with them!" Hermione frowned. "So even if they don't like you, they still have to get you presents, don't they? I mean, who else will?"

Harry did not answer.

"What, they've never given you any presents?" Hermione seemed on the verge of tears.

Harry recalled used clothes and broken toys over the years. He was not sure they deserved to be called thus, but he could not stand the look in his friend's eyes.

"Well..." He shrugged non-committally. "Nothing I liked, at least." That was close enough to the truth, he decided.

"And they won't be surprised if they don't receive a present from you?"

"They won't be," said Harry with such conviction that Hermione finally believed him. "Anyway, not even my cousin gives presents to his parents. They certainly won't be expecting it from me."

"What about your cousin, then?"

"Er, what about him?"

"Are you going to send him something?" asked Hermione, exasperated at Harry's deliberate obtuseness.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Er, we fight a lot." The truth was, Dudley and his gang liked to bully Harry, but he did not want to come out and say that.

"Oh, nonsense, Harry. You can't just not give him a Christmas present because you two fight. A lot of siblings – and cousins – fight. But you haven't seen him in months! How about some sweets? That should be simple enough-"

"He's fat. He should be on a diet. Sweets won't do him any good."

"Oh, you're just being difficult-"

" No, I'm not. Last year, the school nurse sent a letter, saying he was overweight."

"Well... All right, then. Let's have a look through the catalogue-"

"That won't do either. He's scared of magic. Ever since Hagrid magicked him a pig's tail over the summer-"

"What? That doesn't sound very nice. Didn't Hagrid explain properly that it was supposed to be a joke? Or that it would be temporary? And anyway, I thought he didn't have a wand..."

"Well..." Harry did not want to dwell on the fact that it had not been temporary, and that Dudley had needed to have the tail removed surgically, but for the first time in his life, he felt almost sorry for his cousin. "Anyway, he won't like anything from the magical world, so that's that," he said, returning to the problem at hand.

Hermione frowned, but did not contradict him, and she did not bring up the Dursleys again (much to Harry's relief). They did have other things to think about after all. As the temperatures dropped, and fewer and fewer owls managed to make it through the snow unscathed, Harry was glad that he would not need to send Hedwig, that there were delivery owls to deliver the presents he had ordered.

Within the warmth of the common room, curled up snugly in a secluded corner, the three friends started discussing ideas for presents. Hermione seemed to think everyone – at least all the grown-ups – would be happy to receive books. The boys argued with her, and got her to change her mind about all but her parents – who, to be fair, would probably like books, if they were anything like their daughter.

As they started discussing Hagrid and McGonagall, both Harry and Hermione unsure what to get them, they noticed how Ron's mood kept changing. One moment he would be engaged in the discussion, making silly suggestions that Hermione kept shooting down, and the next moment he would turn sombre, and grow quiet.

Hermione was the first to catch on. "Ron, would you maybe like to help with Hagrid's present? I was thinking, Harry isn't the only one who's friends with him. We all visit him. So I'd like to help with the present myself," she said after Ron had fallen silent once again.

"Well – I-"

"Great idea, Hermione!" interrupted Harry, before Ron could give a coherent reply. "I've been thinking – I mean, McGonagall let me join the House team – and she may have bought me my broom as well – so I had this idea for her present-"

"I – I don't know-" interrupted Ron. "I mean..." He blushed.

"It's a present for a teacher, Ron. It's supposed to be something small," Harry told him, immediately catching on that money might be the problem.

"Yes, exactly. My teachers always said they received too many sweets, and what they really liked were letters and greeting cards with some honest well-wishes."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Some of my teachers said the same thing."

"Okay," agreed Ron, "I'm in."

That left Neville. After having decided to get Hagrid and McGonagall a joint present, it seemed obvious to do the same for Neville, as well. He was Ron's dorm mate as well, after all, and he had befriended Hermione first.

This was how their tradition of giving joint presents was born, not that they were aware of it at that point.

There was one more surprise in store for Harry, though. Before leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had promised to do all their muggle shopping and send to them. The owl, carrying a parcel from her that arrived a couple days after she had left, Harry had expected. What had been surprising was the extra item it carried. It was a thin book, or booklet, accompanied by a short note:

Harry,

This was the first book I bought after I found out I was a witch. It's a short introduction to the wizarding world, written for muggleborns. If you do decide to send your cousin a present after all, you could send it along. Maybe it'll help him understand our world better, and he'll stop being scared of magic.

All the best,

Hermione

That girl really knew how to be interfering, was Harry's first sentiment as he read her note. He did not give it much thought, just threw in the booklet with his other books, and left it there.

Some days later, however, when he and Ron were busy sending off all their presents, he had another look at it and reconsidered.

He had always been considered a freak by his family, and a few months ago he had discovered the reason for that was because he was a wizard. His aunt and uncle had known that, but his cousin had been as clueless as Harry himself. The only reason Dudley had called him a freak was because he was a bully and had gone along with his parents.

Harry might have felt a little sorry for him for the pig's tail, but for the most part, he thought Dudley deserved it, deserved to be shown that Harry was no freak, and that magic was wonderful and powerful – not something to look down on. And if it scared his cousin a little, receiving a magic-related article, so much the better.

Harry did not bother with an actual Christmas card for Dudley. He just wrote a short letter, tied it together with the booklet from Hermione, and sent it off with strict instructions to Hedwig not to be seen, and to deliver the parcel to Dudley, and Dudley alone. He did not need his crazy family going after his owl, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A\N: I don't usually think keeping secrets from parents is a good idea, but different rules apply to heroes, I guess.**

Hermione had a very pleasant, if quiet, Christmas Eve. It was spent with her parents, at her home, which she had missed more than she had realised over the months she had been away.

Her parents had decided to forego visiting her grandparents, and having a big family celebration, so they could spend more time together.

"How you've grown!" was almost the first thing she had been told when she had arrived at the station. A dental exam had followed, partly in jest, after she had told them about all the different foods she had eaten at Hogwarts, especially the sweets.

"I'm glad they feed you well, at least," said Mum afterwards, once her parents had finally conceded that her teeth were as always in top condition, "I have heard some horror stories about food at boarding schools."

Her parents, for their part, had not changed at all. Not that Hermione had expected them to, but it was still such a comforting feeling to find everything was exactly as she remembered.

There was Dad, saying something obviously meant for teasing to Mum, a twinkle in his hazel eyes, so similar to his daughter's. They grinned at each other over Mum's head, which was no easy feat, her barely contained locks almost managing to obstruct their view. Mum shook her head in mock exasperation, sending escaped locks flying in all directions. "Oh, you," she said to Dad, the smile in her voice belying the chiding tone, before she turned back to Hermione, with another question for her about her life away at Hogwarts.

It was fun, being home again. And yet, perversely, Hermione caught herself missing her friends. Even during dinner on Christmas Eve, Hermione found herself thinking about Harry and Ron, and what they might be up to, back at Hogwarts.

"Have some more, dear," Mum's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and Hermione was surprised to see the bowl of glazed carrots held in front of her nose.

"Uh, sure," she stammered, and helped herself, though she was not at all sure she really wanted any more carrots.

It was not that they were bad carrots. On the contrary. Her mother had put in a lot of effort into the dinner, and had made sure to include all her favourites. But it made her think of the dinner her friends were now most likely having, unfair though it must be to compare her mother's cooking to the festive dinners served at Hogwarts. She remembered the welcoming feast, and for a traitorous moment, wished to see what Hogwarts looked like at that moment.

Her parents exchanged glances over her head. Hermione had never been an especially sociable child. She had never really made friends at school or in the neighbourhood. Neither did she have siblings, or relatives close to her age. As a consequence, it had always been her parents she had interacted with the most, and they had all loved the time spent together.

They had had long discussions about every topic Hermione could follow. Her parents had delighted in their intelligent, precocious child, who was always trying to learn more, who never grew tired of asking questions, and arguing her beliefs. Hermione had always loved those moments, when her parents treated her like someone worth listening to – something children her age never seemed to do.

Recently, though, things had changed. The older Grangers had feared that after the revelation that their daughter was a witch. However, that had not been the cause. They had discovered that new world together. Even after Hermione had left for Hogwarts, things had remained the same. At least for a while. In the first few weeks, she had written excited letters about her lessons, and interesting titbits about magic and the wizarding world she had come to discover.

It had been some time in November that her parents had become aware of the change. Two names had started popping up in her letters more and more frequently. Both were boys in her year she had apparently managed to befriend, though she had been very vague about how that had come to be.

The letters had been one thing. But it was after her return home that Richard and Jean Granger really became aware of how much Hermione had changed. As enthusiastic as she was to discuss her lessons, compare them with muggle knowledge, and even include the two of them when doing her homework, there was this other part of her school experience, connected to those two boys, that she remained very vague about.

It was not that she did not talk about them. She did. They knew all sorts of details about the boys. One was the famous Harry Potter, who was excellent at quidditch, the wizarding sport, and though Hermione herself had never shown any interest in any sports, she had regaled them with tales of quidditch matches, quidditch rules, training, teams, brooms, and of course the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts that Harry was trying to help win for Gryffindor.

She had mentioned very little about Harry's family, except that they were muggles like the Grangers themselves, which meant that Harry at least had no problems understanding Hermione's experiences prior to Hogwarts.

The other boy, Ron Weasley, did not even have that. He came from a long line of magical ancestors, and had very little understanding of the muggle world. They knew the names of all members of his large family, knew about his pet, even. They watched Hermione's attempts at learning chess after coming home, though it clearly was not her game – just so she could play with Ron, even though from her throwaway comments they had deduced that she tended to argue quite a bit with the boy.

It was all very confusing. They simply could not understand why their studious daughter had befriended two boys who seemed to have little interest in school work, or books and learning in general, and the more they asked her about them, the more they heard about them, the less they understood.

Meanwhile, they had to deal with the new-found knowledge that their company was no longer enough for Hermione, who clearly seemed to be missing her friends, and never seemed as enthusiastic as when she was talking about them. It was uncanny how much she acted her age when she did – something they had despaired to see in their daughter before. That alone should have been enough for them to welcome their daughter's new friendships. But the feeling that they might be overlooking something remained.

"So, Hermione, what do you think Hogwarts looks like right now?" asked Dad.

The girl looked up, unnerved that her father seemed to have guessed exactly what she had been thinking about. "Oh, I don't know. Not too different from how I left it, I guess. The trees were already decorated. I don't think they'll do that much more, with most students away. They'll be having dinner now as well, I guess."

"Do they do special dinners, then? You said the food's good, usually, but do they do something special?"

Hermione nodded. "We had a huge feast on our first evening there. I guess it'll be a bit like that."

"What about Hallowe'en? Did they do something special that time, as well?"

Hermione felt the blush creep up in her cheeks, as she nodded quickly. She had heard all about the feast the next morning from Harry and Ron, who had become her friends overnight, but she still felt like she was lying to her parents as she agreed, because she had missed the feast and so had no first-hand knowledge.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew she should feel a lot guiltier about keeping her wild adventures from her parents, but it seemed such an impossible act to tell them about those that she could now easily suppress that urge.

"So, how many of your friends stayed at school, then?" asked Mum.

"Both of them," replied a surprised Hermione. "Didn't I tell you?"

"You mentioned Harry and Ron would be staying," Mum said carefully, "but what about your other friends?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "I don't really have any other friends," she muttered.

"What about the girls in your dorm?" asked Dad. "Lily and Padma, was it?"

His daughter's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Lily? And-" Hermione's face cleared after a moment. "Oh! You mean Lavender and Parvati." She giggled. "Dad, Lily was Harry's mum, and Padma is Parvati's twin sister. She's in Ravenclaw, though."

"So what about them, then?" Dad would not be deterred. "Aren't you friends with them?"

"Not really." Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I mean, we do get along-" she added, seeing her parents' alarmed looks.

"You're not being bullied, are you?" asked Mum.

"No, Mum. They're just... Well, they're friends with each other, and they get along really well. They seem to like the same things, and they agree on a lot of things..."

"But not with you?"

"Not as much. Not really."

"And those boys – they are more like you?" Dad asked sceptically.

As always, their mention brought an involuntary smile to Hermione's face. "They don't mind arguing with me. We all like different things, and we argue – well, discuss – what we want to do, and then we usually end up doing everything – what they want to do, and what I want to do."

"Sounds like fun," said Mum with a sigh.

Hermione nodded and hummed in agreement. She looked a lot more animated, bouncing in her seat, eating a lot more enthusiastically, and in general seeming to be enjoying herself a lot more. Her parents exchanged another look.

"But still," Mum tried once again, "wouldn't you like to have more than just two friends? The girls there are all witches like you, aren't they? I'm sure you'll have some things in common. What about those twin girls, for example? The one in your House and the other in Ravenclaw – that's the House for studious people, isn't it? Maybe you could-"

But she never got to finish that sentence. For at that moment, two owls arrived knocking at their window, and Hermione jumped up from her seat with an excited squeal, and rushed over to open the window.

The owls delivered two packages, both of which she took from them with great care. Then she gave them a generous amount of owl treats that her parents kept in the house for the Hogwarts owls their daughter sent home.

Hermione pressed both packages to her chest and carried them over to put them under the tree.

It was such an odd sight, seeing Hermione acting her age, showing a childlike excitement at receiving presents. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing it was not due to them. And yet, had they not always wished this for her? To have such good friends? Was it selfish to feel excluded, to feel as if they were losing their only daughter to two, by all accounts, immature boys, whom they had never even met?

It was still well and truly dark when Jean woke the next morning. She heard some odd noises from downstairs, and went to investigate. Not entirely unexpectedly, she found her daughter in the living room, eating from a bowl of cereal, and watching some children's show on the telly, but her whole attention seemed to be diverted towards the Christmas tree in the opposite corner.

Jean did not know how long she had stood there, contemplating her daughter, when Richard stepped up behind her. She looked up and met his eyes, which were filled with amusement, and Jean was not sure if she had imagined the trace of sadness underneath.

Hermione must have heard something – or maybe her magic alerted her that she was being observed – and she turned around, looking sheepish and excited.

"Go on, open your presents," Richard told her.

That was all the prompting she needed, and a moment later, all three of them were sitting around the tree, sorting through the brightly wrapped packages.

Hermione went straight for her friends' presents, tearing the paper with little finesse, and her excitement was so infectious that even her parents could not wait to see what the owls had delivered. The first package, from Harry Potter, contained a book and a number of sweets in colourful wrappings. The frog Hermione unwrapped tried to jump away, to her parents' astonishment, before she caught it mid-jump, and started munching on it, without any worry about what the sugar might do to her teeth.

She moved on to Ron's present right away, which contained a jumper in a dark teal colour with a golden 'H' stitched on the front, and some home-made fudge. She pulled on the jumper, and tried the fudge as well, before offering it to her parents, who declined. Then she opened both of the letters that had come with the boys' presents.

"The jumper's from Ron's mum. She knitted it for me herself, can you believe it?"

Hermione had a goofy smile on her face while she was reading the letter, and Richard had to remind himself that the boy who had written it was only eleven years old.

They moved on to other presents eventually. A lot of books were exchanged – something that was very common for the Grangers. Hermione seemed happy enough about everything she received – books, of course, both fiction and non-fiction, clothes, some educational games, even a book from the wizarding world her parents had bought months beforehand, when shopping for her school supplies, so they would have it ready to give her for Christmas – but still she kept coming back to the boys' letters and presents.

With a sigh, Richard picked up the book Harry had sent. 'Fantastic beasts and where to find them', it read on the cover. A book was a good guess for a present for his daughter, he had to admit. Why this one, though, he had no idea. Then again, it had come from an eleven year old boy. It was probably one of the few books he could conceive of reading.

Richard leafed through it, and as expected, it was exactly what it said on the cover. That such things should really exist, he thought to himself, and he hoped – as he did about so many things he had heard of in the wizarding world – that his daughter would never encounter them.

He was about to put it back down again, when he saw the inscription in spidery handwriting on the front page:

_To Hermione,_

_Looks like we might need to read this in the future!_

_Check out the section about three-headed dogs. Do they look familiar?_

_From Harry_

Richard suspected he was better off not knowing, but he could not help himself. He leafed to the corresponding entry in the book.

"Extremely rare beasts... indigenous to Greece... shoulder height of six to seven feet... known for their ferocious nature..."

It was only during the ensuing quiet, faced with Jean's surprised, and Hermione's frighteningly knowing, startled look, that he realised he had read aloud.

"Would you please tell me why your friend thinks a three-headed-dog should look familiar to you?" he asked his daughter in such a calm voice, he barely recognised it as his own.

Her parents were looking at her expectantly, waiting for the answer. For one wild moment, Hermione wanted to blurt out the truth. She was a Gryffindor, and hiding was not the first response her mind came up with.

"It's – Um, it's nothing," she managed after a pause.

Dad raised his eyebrows sceptically, and Hermione knew he would not let it go easily.

Suddenly, she was frantic, trying to come up with an explanation. "It's – we, uh, we learned about them in class – in Defence against the Dark Arts."

She realised as she spoke that her explanation had holes in it. Why would Harry have needed to buy the book for her if it was about something she had already learned in class?

"It was not part of our proper lessons," she tried again, aware that she might be rambling, but unable to stop. "Our professor – he's a very nervous sort of fellow. I heard he spent all of last year travelling, to gain first-hand experience, and there are rumours that something happened to him – that he had a run-in with some dangerous creature."

"With a three-headed dog?" asked Mum.

"A vampire, I think," Hermione corrected, unwilling to lie unless she absolutely had to. "But he keeps mentioning all sorts of dangerous creatures that we aren't supposed to deal with for some years yet," she added quickly.

"What for?"

"To warn us, I guess. Or because he's scared of them himself." That part was most likely true, she supposed. "But he won't tell us about them properly. So I guess Harry thought I might want to look them up," she finished weakly, all the while fuming at Harry for getting her in that situation.

"Hermione," Mum began hesitantly, "you are doing all right, aren't you?"

"Those boys aren't getting you into any trouble, are they?" asked Dad.

"No! No. They're the best friends I could wish for."

"That's not what we asked, dear," said Mum. "I mean, we can't know what goes on at your school unless you tell us. And if you get in some sort of trouble-"

"No, Mum. I'm fine-"

"Hermione, you know, if you did have problems, we could think of something-" began Mum.

"Though our options may be limited, what with Hogwarts being the only magical school in the UK," muttered Dad.

"But if she wanted to leave, I'm sure we could do something-" Mum replied directly to his comment.

"What, take her out of Hogwarts?" asked her surprised husband.

"Well, yes. If she's asked to deal with such dangerous creatures, and who knows what else. They said magical education was compulsory, but I'm sure that's not an actual law."

"Yes, it is!" said a panicked Hermione, who was unable to understand how the discussion had deteriorated to that point. She had not even told them anything.

"Oh, Hermione, don't worry. No one can make you do what you don't want to. If you want to leave, we'll think of something, you'll see," Mum tried to comfort her, misunderstanding the reason for her panic.

"It's only magical education that's compulsory," said Dad, "not Hogwarts. There are other schools-"

"Not in the UK," argued his daughter. "You said it yourself-"

"No, but I'm sure there's at least one in every country. And who knows, maybe they don't teach about three-headed dogs-"

"Of course!" Mum agreed at once. "We could try Ireland, or maybe France. Hermione, you learned quite a bit of French when we went there last year over summer. Maybe-"

"No!" shouted Hermione. "I'm not leaving! Hogwarts is where I belong. For the first time, I belong somewhere-"

Her parents reeled back, hearing that. How could she be saying such a thing?

"You don't think you belong with us?" Mum did not try very hard to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I – Well, I – Well, yes – I just-" Hermione broke off her stammering, and silence fell between the family.

"It's not the same thing, though, is it?" asked Dad after a while.

"No, it's not."

"Hermione..." Mum did not know what to say to that.

"Mum, I didn't mean it like that. I love being here. I love you both. But I also love my – my school. I have friends there – real friends, not just people I hang out with. And, yes, there are dangers in the magical world, but I'm a witch, and I'll be a witch no matter what school I'll go to.

"I'm also a Gryffindor. I told you what that means, didn't I? I'm not scared of the world, magical or otherwise. I'll learn well, so if I ever have to deal with things like that, I'll be prepared."

Her parents agreed reluctantly, their momentary panic at the unknown dangers fading slowly, and Hermione relaxed, again safe in the knowledge that soon she would be going back to Hogwarts.

The words of the Sorting Hat came back to her, spoken to her as she had argued with it over where to place her. She had not had a real preference between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but she had challenged the Hat to place her exactly where she belonged.

She had been a little put out by how quickly Ravenclaw had been dismissed. The Hat had explained then, told her that while she might learn like a Ravenclaw, she would never be satisfied with just knowing something; that she would always need to find out for herself; that understanding the world would never be enough for her; that she would always feel the need to change it. Hopefully for the better, Hermione added to herself.

What she did know for a fact was that learning was no longer her highest priority, hard pressed she would have to be to admit it, though. There was friendship, and bravery, and wild adventures, all for the sake of doing the right thing. She had to admit to herself that the Sorting Hat had been right all along – she wanted to become more like Harry and Ron, and care about others' problems and try to help them, the way her friends had saved her.

And she would not let anything stand in her way, not even her parents' worries – even if she had to keep some secrets from them. She did not want to, but who knew, if they found out about the things she got up to, they might really take her out of Hogwarts, and where would that leave her?


	3. Chapter 3

**A\N: Getting massively out of season now, but whatever.**

Dudley had a perfectly ordinary Christmas. He was back home from Smeltings, after the longest separation from his parents he had ever experienced. The elder Dursleys, as expected, had gone out of their way to welcome him back.

He had been informed upon arrival that his cousin had opted to remain at his school for freaks. Since then, Harry's name had not been mentioned, even though this was the first time Dudley could remember that the other boy was absent from their home.

They had all alluded to it, of course. His parents had made several comments about being among themselves, being just the three of them, and so on. Dudley agreed that was all very nice. Yet, it felt strange, knowing that Harry was not stuck in the cupboard – away from their eyes, and yet present – but instead spending his holidays away at a secret school for wizards and witches.

Even after months of knowing about it, it boggled Dudley's mind that magic was real, and that his weird, scrawny, bespectacled cousin, of all people, had it.

Dudley tried to put all thoughts about Harry and magic out of his mind. It was not difficult at all. There was something particularly non-magical about his parents, and his Aunt Marge, who had arrived a couple days before Christmas, and would remain with them until the new year.

Dudley was playing his favourite alien invasion computer game when his mother called from downstairs that dinner had been served. He sighed, and got up somewhat reluctantly, unsure whether he really wanted to leave the game for his parents' company. Soon enough, though, the anticipation of the festive dinner became overwhelming, and he headed downstairs.

Aunt Marge met Dudley at the staircase, leaning heavily on the banister. As soon as he reached her, her hand landed heavily on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Dudley visibly sagged as she took a step, and put more of her weight on him.

"A bit shrunk all around, are we?" she wheezed. "Aren't they feeding you properly at school?"

"You'd think they were," he grunted back. "They keep telling me I'm gaining weight."

Even with the ten-pound-note she slipped into his hand once they reached the ground floor, Dudley could not help but t hink fondly of all the times his cousin had had to help Aunt Marge instead of him. This was the first visit from her he could remember when Harry was not present, and it made him realise that he mostly liked his aunt around when he could watch her abuse his cousin.

Petunia, Dudley's mum, was flitting around the dining room, making some last-minute alterations to what already looked like a very richly filled, very orderly dinner table. She herself, had put on her favourite pearls, and on the whole, there was not a hair out of place. She directed them all to their seats.

"No, no. You sit right here, Duddykins, next to me."

Dudley did as he was told. A moment later, his mother had to lightly slap his hand away when he tried to start eating right away.

"What a funny boy you are, pretending you don't have table manners," Mum said with a laugh.

Dudley barely refrained himself from telling her he was not trying to be funny, and that he wanted to eat now. But though his mouth watered at seeing all the fancy dishes, he again did as he was told. His mother shot him a surprised look, but then went back to ingratiation herself with her sister-in-law.

Dudley did not miss the look, and knew very well what had caused it. The time away at school had changed him, and even he himself had noticed it. He was not the richest kid at Smeltings any more, he no longer had Harry around to copy homework from, and even without all that, he was under his teachers' care at school, who were a lot less of his outbursts than his parents.

"Let him eat, Petunia, he's a growing boy." Dad came to Dudley's defence, while loading his own plate.

"He needs to eat well, so he'll turn into a proper sized man, like his father," agreed Aunt Marge, who was eager to start eating herself, rather than listen to the newest gossip from the neighbourhood narrated by Petunia.

It did not take long with the combined efforts of father, son, and aunt to clear most of the table.

"Excellent nosh, Petunia, one of your best." Aunt Marge sighed with satisfaction after she had finished off her third helping of the turkey. She chased it down with a freshly refilled glass of wine.

Dudley looked up in surprise hearing that. The food was fine, and it looked perfect, certainly. But to him, at least, it tasted blander than usual. He shrugged and went back to eating. No one could accuse Dudley of being a picky eater. If it had enough fat or sugar, he would like it all right. Even Smeltings' less than satisfactory meals always found space in his stomach.

"That's right, Petunia," said Dad a little louder than strictly necessary, his face flushed from the wine he had already imbibed. "Just how I like it. No shirking the fat, or – or any of that healthy stuff. And no trying to change the flavour – never knowing what you'll end up with."

"Just so, Vernon," tittered Mum. "No experiments." Her face turned sour at the last word, the way it only did when mentioning anything related to her nephew.

Dudley suddenly caught up to what they were talking about. Watching the stove, and otherwise helping his mother in the kitchen, was part of Harry's chores. Experimenting with their food, was he? Dudley's indignation joined that of his parents', ignoring the traitorous part of his mind that told him this explained why the dinner tasted bland.

"Must be the lack of stress," said Aunt Marge. "You can take your time to do it right when you don't have that hooligan-in-the-making to watch over."

Dudley did not miss how his parents' expressions grew strained at the merest mention of their nephew.

Aunt Marge seemed to have missed that, though. "Where is that boy, anyway?"

"I told you, Marge. He's staying at his school," said Dad, eager to get away from the topic.

"Yes, you did. But what sort of kid wants to stay at school? There's something odd about that boy, Vernon, I've always said so-"

"He's not staying voluntarily, Marge," Dad said loudly.

His wife, who had been pushing food around on her plate, pretending to eat, halted at that, but did not look up.

"How come?" Aunt Marge immediately looked interested.

"He's... He's-" Dad's moustache twitched. "We had to send him to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He left us no choice."

Dudley almost laughed out loud, hearing that.

"is that so?" Aunt Marge seemed pleased at hearing that. "Well done, Vernon, Petunia. He'll get just what he needs there, by the sound of it – a firm hand. I don't believe this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not using force on people who deserve it."

"Yes, yes. They know how to treat boys like him there," said Dad.

"And they keep him over the holidays. Easter holidays as well?"

"Of course. He'll be there until summer."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge with obvious pleasure. "He'll be out of your hair as much as possible, and who knows, maybe they'll manage to force some sense into him at that school."

Dudley grinned vindictively, liking the thought of his cousin stuck at St Brutus while he got to enjoy the comforts of home. Until he remembered that Harry was actually at Hogwarts, and staying there voluntarily.

It was a sobering thought. Once that had occurred to him, listening to his parents tell lies about Harry became difficult to listen to. Not long after that, he became fidgety, and his mother allowed him to leave the table and go upstairs.

It was all his cousin's fault, he thought to himself, as he climbed the stairs. It was because he was such a freak that his parents were forced to come up with excuses for him. Except, the thing that made Harry a freak was apparently his magic.

Magic.

All those weird things that used to happen to his cousin – from making it impossible to cut his hair to turning their teacher's wig blue – had been caused by magic. Dudley had never given it much thought how Harry had done those things before. In fact, he had been convinced that none of them were actually his cousin's fault. But he had known that his parents would believe him – or anyone else – that whatever had happened had been Harry's fault.

It was an uncomfortable realisation that his parents had been right – at least some of the time. Harry was not such a wimp after all. He could do more than just give smart retorts and run away. His magic had protected him more than once.

Dudley shivered as he remembered his last birthday. Had Harry really set a boa constrictor on him? He was suddenly very glad that Harry had opted to remain at school. He was aware, though, that summer would eventually come, and Harry would return, together with a year's worth of magical learning. Dudley was not looking forward to that reunion.

What would Harry do, once he came back, with all that knowledge, and his lifelong memories of how he had been treated by the Dursleys? His parents had known all about Harry's magic from the beginning– not that they had told either of them – and they did not seem worried about having him back in the house eventually. And Dudley still trusted his parents to protect him, even though on occasion they had proved ineffectual against people with magic.

The real issue was that Dudley knew, in Harry's place, very little would stop him to get his revenge. If he had magic-

Now, what a thought that was. If Dudley had magic. His parents may call it freakishness all they wanted. Dudley knew – though he felt he would never be able to admit it to anyone – least of all his parents – that he still wanted it. He wanted to be magical just like Harry. He was sure he would have made a much better wizard – wise and powerful, and always getting his way.

He understood, though, without ever having asked directly, that one either had it, or not. And if one of those stupid letters were not sent to him, all the begging in the world would not get him magic.

He did not even try, of course. His parents, he was well aware, had always tried to give him everything he wanted, especially if it was something Harry wanted, as well. Nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, his parents had been scared as soon as they had seen the letters, but even with all the crazy things his dad had tried to get away from them, none of it had prevented the wizards from taking Harry.

That was the state of things, then. He wanted magic. Harry had it. And nothing could change that. Telling himself that if it was something Harry had, he would not like it anyway, did not help in the slightest. He wanted to know so much what magic was like, what it could do, what it was like to have it, to study it.

There was no way he could find out, though, short of asking Harry-

Dudley was passing his cousin's new bedroom – his old room – when thinking that, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a noise from inside the room. He heard it again a moment later – a soft hooting, barely audible through the closed door and vaguely familiar – and it almost made him run back to his parents in panic.

He listened for the sound again, but all remained quiet. It was probably nothing, he told himself. He had most likely imagined it. That was what he got for thinking about Harry of all people. There was no need to run downstairs and make his parents come up to check out the room. It would make him look like a coward – especially if there was nothing. There was also Aunt Marge, he remembered, who did not know about magic. She really would think him a coward, and Dudley was uncomfortably aware that his parents would not explain things to her, not even to spare Dudley the embarrassment.

There was no other way. He would have to check out the room himself. There was no way he would get any sleep that night otherwise.

It took him a few tries, but finally his legs obeyed him and carried him to the door of Harry's room. Finding the courage to twist the handle and step inside took even longer. But he finally did-

And almost screamed when he saw the snowy owl on Harry's bed. He choked off his scream when he heard the owl hoot again. He recognised it. Her. She belonged to his cousin. But why was she here? How had she turned up in Dudley's house? Had Harry returned in secret and was now hiding in his room, biding his time?

Dudley had the frantic urge to either rush through the room and search it for his cousin's hiding place, or run away from there as quickly as possible, and hide in his own room.

The owl did not let him, though. It flew towards him, circled his head once, then went to sit on the head rail of the bed again. Just behind the package on top of Harry's bed, to be precise.

Dudley's mind finally caught up with what he was seeing. At least in part. Had he given it enough thought, he would have concluded that most likely a package from Harry would contain something humiliating for him at best, or even outright harmful. But he had ripped open the packaging and was reading the note by the time that occurred to him.

He read:

_Dudley,_

_By now you've probably killed all the aliens in Mega Mutilation 2, eaten enough to feed a small family for a week, and thrown a tantrum – which got you whatever you wanted, I'm sure, if Aunt Marge is there as usual. Aunt Petunia wouldn't want her precious Diddykins look bad in front of a guest, would she?_

Dudley almost stopped reading at that point, noticing that it was meant to insult him, even though all of it was true. No one had ever said such things to him before, and he was not entirely sure what to think of it.

_But if there's any hope for you at all, you should have noticed that something is missing in all that – something of the wonder of Christmas._

_And I don't think you'll be able to find it in Aunt Petunia's tinsel-free living room; or Aunt Marge's hugs – however much money she might pay you for them; or Uncle Vernon's approval of everything you do – be it overeating, bullying, throwing tantrums, or neglecting your school work._

_I've just discovered it for the first time myself at Hogwarts. It's to be found in playing outside in the snow that is so filled with laughter that you forget all about the cold, and in warming back up with hot chocolate in front of a fireplace while playing games without ever keeping track who won. It's found in thinking about what presents to give, rather than receive, for a change, and hoping that they'll make your friends happy. Most of all, it's found in people one cares for, and who care in return. There is some sort of magic in that – the best sort of magic._

_Hogwarts is rather full of magic, as you can imagine. It's everywhere, especially at this time. It's hard to describe how beautiful the castle looks right now. I've just come up after the best dinner I've ever eaten, only to find the dorms had also been decorated while we were all gone. I'm so filled with magic, I felt I had to share – especially with those who are completely without it._

_So, as 'tis the season for giving, I'm sending you a book about magic. I know. Two of your least favourite things – books and magic – in one. But maybe you can get over yourself for once._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Harry._

It was a book about magic. It came with an insulting letter from Harry. His parents would have a fit if they even knew it was in their house.

It would answer the questions he had, the ones he had been thinking about all evening.

Dudley reached out towards the book. His hand slowed mid-way, as he heard a noise, then realised it was just loud laughter from his father. His family was still at the dinner table, and it did not seem as if they would leave any time soon.

Dudley drew the book towards himself and began to read. In the end, he was not one to deny himself his momentary wants.

It was only when he heard the sound of loud conversation coming up the stairs that he realised how long he had stayed there. Quickly, he slipped out of Harry's room, and into his own, slipping under his covers after just taking his shoes off. As he knew from long nights of playing computer games past his bed time, his mother looked in on him, to tuck him in and kiss his cheek, before going to sleep herself.

He did not have to force himself to stay awake. His mind was so buzzing with everything he had read that sleep would not have come even if he had wanted it to. As soon as he heard the double snoring from his parents' room and the guest room, he slipped out of bed, and back into Harry's room, armed with his new, and as of yet unbroken, torch, to continue reading. There was not much left, as he discovered , as he turned the last page some time later.

The moving illustrations still held him entranced as he looked at them, but on the whole, the book had left him with more questions than answers. It really was a very slim book, and though that had been the most reading Dudley had ever done in all his life, the information he had acquired was not enough to satisfy his curiosity. Only one question had been answered sufficiently. He now knew for sure that he wanted to find out more about magic, scary though it could be.

Harry's owl hooted softly, jerking Dudley out of his thoughts. She did it again, louder this time.

"Shh," said Dudley insistently, then felt foolish for shushing an owl. She seemed to have understood, though, and only hooted very softly the third time.

Was she trying to tell him something?

As Dudley looked at her, she held out her leg. Before he knew how to respond, she flew in a circle over his head again, and landed on the windowsill, then pulled up the latch and pushed to open the window. She really was an extraordinarily smart owl. Or perhaps there was some subtle magic involved-

"Wait!" said Dudley before the owl could fly away.

He hurried to his room and back, and managed to send a short letter with her. He wondered at himself, as he watched the owl fly off. Had that been a stupid thing to do? A dangerous thing to do? Would it make things better or worse come summer when he and Harry would be back under one roof?

Dudley finally decided he was too sleepy to think about that, but he made sure to hide his new book in Harry's room before going to sleep – not that his parents ever went in there, but he wanted to be sure nothing would happen to it.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry and Ron were having a magical Christmas at Hogwarts. The boys woke up early on Christmas Day to each find a pile of presents in front of their beds. Ron's was made up of a significantly larger number of parcels but Harry was astonished at the number he had received. He had been hoping for, even expecting, a couple of them, instead of the half dozen presents waiting for him.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron, as he got up.

"You, too," said Harry. "Look at all the presents I received!"

"What did you expect, turnips?"

"I just mean, there's too many."

"Too many presents?" exclaimed Ron. "You can't have too many of those. And, anyway, it doesn't seem that many, to be honest."

"No, I just mean, who are they from?"

"I think you need to open them to find out."

Harry shot Ron an annoyed look, but then shrugged. "All right. Do you want to open them together?"

"Sure."

They pushed both piles closer together, and sat down on the floor, each picking the first parcel from their side. Harry received a wooden flute from Hagrid, which sounded a bit like an owl. It came with a short note.

"Hagrid says thank-you for the teabags," he told Ron after reading it.

Ron waved it off. "It wasn't my idea, was it? Trust Hermione to come up with something like that."

"Well, they are a muggle thing. But, yeah. I didn't think of it, either. It's easy to forget about muggle things in the magical world." Harry frowned. "Even if sometimes they're more convenient."

"Like what?" asked a disbelieving Ron.

"Like pen and paper," grumbled Harry. "Makes writing so much easier."

"Nah. That's just your scrawl, mate. Hermione's writing is just fine."

Harry scowled. "That's because she practices more. But she finds quills annoying, too."

Ron shrugged and opened another of his presents, this one containing a couple of new quills, of all things.

"Speaking of..." he snorted. "Let me guess... Yep, this one's from Percy."

After opening the note from his relatives and giving Ron the fifty pence coin, Harry opened the lumpy parcel with – as Ron guessed correctly – presents from Mrs Weasley. He pulled out the jumper and put it on, and then saw the dark-covered book underneath, next to the home-made fudge.

"That one was my idea," said Ron. "I asked her to send it for you. But I guess she thought you should get some real presents as well."

"A book, Ron? Whatever made you think of that?" asked Harry teasingly, and grinned widely.

Ron turned pink. "It's not that sort of book. It's-"

"Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy," Harry read from the cover.

"Yeah. It's written by prejudiced, crazy gits, so don't believe anything they write. But I asked Mum, and she said the Potters are mentioned in it. You did say your relatives didn't like magic, and didn't tell you about your parents. So I thought... And Hermione said-" He broke off, and turned red.

Harry might have been bothered by the fact that his friends apparently talked about him behind his back, but right then he was too busy looking for the entry under his name.

"Ron... This is... Thank you, Ron, I-" He stopped talking as soon as he found the entry under 'Potter'. He did not bother with the text at first, and went directly to the family tree, which took up a double page. There he was, his dad, at the very bottom of the tree, with his birthday written underneath.

"It's an old edition," said Ron. "Mum and Dad got it as a wedding present. You might have been in it, if it were a newer edition. But they'd probably have 'forgotten' to add your mum's name, what with her being a muggleborn." He grew even redder, and ducked his head.

"Ron, if this was a wedding present-"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. We're blood traitors, remember?" Ron said rather proudly. "It's been stuck in the attic ever since my parents got it. I don't think any of us even had a look through it. But I thought you might find it useful."

"Thank you," Harry said again, without looking up. Then he cleared his throat, to cover all traces of emotion. "Charlus Potter, and Dorea Potter, nee Black. Those were my grandparents. My dad was an only child – no surprise there – and so was my granddad, but my grandmother..." He searched the appropriate entry without looking up, and missed the look on Ron's face. "Look at that! My grandmother seems to have some relatives. Quite a few, actually. There's her brother-"

"Er, Harry." Ron decided it would be better to interrupt him at that point. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but those are the Blacks."

Harry looked up with a quizzical look, to find Ron staring at the book with distaste.

"Well, yes," he said carefully. "My grandmother was named-"

"Harry-" Ron interrupted him, then halted. "I forget sometimes how many things you don't know," he mumbled to himself. "The Blacks are one of the oldest and darkest families in Britain, Harry. Slytherins, all of them. Even if you're – sort of – related to them, I don't think they're the sort of people you want to get to know better."

"I'm... I'm related to a dark family? But-"

"It doesn't mean anything," Ron said quickly. "All pureblood families are related. There's just not that many of us around. I think I'm related to the Blacks as well. And I'm sure not all of them were evil. Your dad was fighting against you-know-who, wasn't he. So his mum can't have been evil, right?"

Harry did not look entirely reassured, and closed the book, to find Ron looking at him contritely.

"Never mind the Blacks, Ron," he told his friend. "This was still a great present. I now know what my grandparents were called." He smiled encouragingly.

Ron smiled back hesitantly, and they went back to opening presents. A couple more presents from Ron's family, and then it was Harry's turn again. The next parcel he opened held another surprise for him.

"Look at that. Dudley's written back," he said.

"Don't tell me you actually listened to Hermione and sent that book."

Harry grimaced. "I sort of did. What," he added at Ron's look. "I wanted to find out how he'd react."

"Right." Ron went back to unpacking his presents, but finally curiosity won out. "Well? What did he write?"

"Let me see..." Harry skimmed over the letter for a second time. "Insane spelling, check. Calling me freak in every other sentence, check. Complaining about my writing skills – the cheek of him! Oh, look at that, doesn't complain about receiving a present. Oh-ho-ho, but apparently the book doesn't meet with his high standards – doesn't answer most of his questions, can you believe it? Oh, and then he goes on about how obviously easy our school has to be compared to his that we have such simple books. Ha! If he only knew! And, anyway, he can't have forgotten already that he used to copy all my homework-"

"Sounds jealous, if you ask me," sniggered Ron.

Harry thought that over. "He does, doesn't he? Also, he sounds like he wants to know more about magic – for all that he claims it's freaky. Git."

"Git," Ron also said at the same time, and both boys laughed at the coincidence.

Harry frowned and looked at the letter again. He had missed the comment when reading the first time, but on second reading, he picked up the envelope again, and turned it over to watch a simple ballpoint pen drop out of it.

"Huh," he said, surprised.

"What's that?"

"It's a pen. Dudley sent it-"

"What, like a Christmas present?"

Harry snorted. "No, he sent it because he could barely read my writing, he claims."

Curious, Ron asked to use it, and tried it on a piece of parchment. It was not very impressive.

"It works much better on paper," Harry told him.

Losing his interest at that point, Ron picked up another parcel to open, and Harry held his breath as he saw what it was. Ron noticed his reaction.

"This one's from you, then?" he asked casually.

Harry nodded.

Ron unpacked a carefully folded poster, and a scarf and mittens with the Chudley Cannons emblem on them. He unfolded the poster, to display seven quidditch players on their brooms, flying all over the quidditch pitch shown in the background.

"Thanks, Harry," Ron said enthusiastically. "This must be their newest poster. Hadn't even seen it yet." With that, he got up and hung it up next to his bed.

There were two very similar-looking presents, wrapped in identical paper, and the boys picked them up simultaneously.

"Guess we know who sent these. Want to bet they're books?" joked Ron.

Harry was sure to lose the bet, from the feel of it. "I think there might be something else inside as well," he said.

"All right, let's see."

As it turned out, they were both right. Hermione had sent them each a book and some chocolate frogs. Ron's was a muggle book about chess strategies.

"They know chess in the muggle world?" asked a surprised Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes. His present was 'Curses and Counter-Curses' by Vindictus Viridian. He had recognised the title in the catalogue, and told his friends how Hagrid had stopped him from buying it.

"Look at that," he said. "First, Hermione makes me send Dudley a present, and then she buys me the book I wanted in order to hex him."

Ron shook his head fondly. "I guess she thinks a book's a good idea, no matter what."

At that point, Ron still had a couple of presents left to open – which was not surprising, considering the size of his family – and Harry also still had one unopened parcel in front of him. After Ron had finished opening his presents, and both boys had marveled at Harry's invisibility cloak, the other Weasley boys came up to their dorm and they all went down for breakfast.

That night, after a day of celebration, Harry found the Mirror of Erised. As he looked into it, and realised what he was seeing, his heart began to beat louder, recognising the family he could not remember ever seeing before.

His parents would have been easy to identify from the descriptions he had heard of them, even if they had not been standing right behind him, their hands on his shoulders. He wondered if he would be able to match anyone else to the names from the book Ron had given him. The thought had barely occurred to Harry that the people in the background rearranged themselves, half of them standing behind his mum, and the other half behind his dad.

His aunt and uncle were completely missing, but Harry spotted Dudley's face by the edge of the mirror, looking in towards the mirror space from round the corner, as scared as he had been when they had met Hagrid.

On the other side of the mirror, he saw a couple behind his dad, both black-haired and smiling at him, and realised those must be Charlus and Dorea. His grandparents. He identified his muggle grandparents as well, and then went back to staring at his mum and dad, trying to memorise every last detail about them.

He still noticed the very handsome man who alternately kept looking at Harry and at his dad, also wearing a smile, though there seemed to be something unbearably sad about him.

The day the other students were to return to Hogwarts, Harry and Ron went down to the edge of the lake, where the flying carriages were to land, to meet Hermione as soon as she arrived.

Harry was wearing his new Weasley jumper, and Ron had opted to wear the scarf and mittens Harry had given him. It still felt like the holidays, even though classes were to begin the next day.

Both boys were smiling as they watched Hermione emerge from the carriage, her own Weasley jumper visible under her coat, Neville following right behind her. Harry's smile dimmed somewhat when she looked at him, her expression somewhere between angry and annoyed. He opened his mouth, but she stepped closer to him, and whispered, "Later."

The four Gryffindors walked up to the castle, Neville thanking the boys awkwardly for the sweets they had sent him.

As soon as they were among themselves, Hermione turned to Harry. "I want to have a word with you," she said with no trace of the anger from before, but entirely serious. She led them to the most secluded corner she could find in the common room.

"What is it?" Harry was puzzled.

"Harry... Look, I was really happy about your present. I've read the book at least half a dozen times, and then I compared it to our defence textbook – Anyway, I really enjoyed it. But, Harry, what were you thinking, writing that inscription-"

"I didn't think you'd feel so strongly about it. I know, you love books, and would never scribble in them, but-"

"No! That's not what I mean. An inscription is a great idea – except where you mentioned three headed dogs!"

Harry looked comically confused, but when he looked to Ron for support, he was surprised to see dawning comprehension on the other boy's face.

"What," he said, looking from one to the other.

"Did your parents see it?" asked a sympathetic Ron.

"They did. Next thing I knew, they were talking about shipping me off to France-"

"What! Why would you tell them-"

"I didn't! Of course I didn't. I lied to them, told them we had learned about them in class – And I did convince them. They don't know any more about my rule-breaking now than they did before-"

"Then what-" began Harry, but he did not get very far.

"Just their mention was enough!" Hermione almost shouted. "Harry you grew up with muggles, as well," she went on more calmly. "You must know what it's like for my parents, hearing about powerful and dangerous things – things outside of their world that they don't know how to deal with, and knowing that I have to."

Harry frowned, unable to fully understand what she was trying to explain to him, and not sure how to respond, even though she had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

"Come on, Harry," she said exasperatedly. "You can't tell me you've told your relatives about all our adventures."

"Of course I haven't," said Harry. "But that's the thing. My relatives don't care about me. They always try to do whatever will annoy me the most. So why would I tell them? But your parents, Hermione. I mean, they love you. They care about you, about what you want. I mean, I get not telling them about our investigations. They might tell you it's too dangerous. But things that have already happened? It's nothing to do with magic. I mean, don't you want them to know what goes on in your life-"

"I agree it's nothing to do with magic," said Ron. "My mum would drag me back home by the ear if she had any idea about that dog, or the troll, or even the smallest hint of a suspicion about what we're investigating. Harry-" he hesitated, trying to phrase his thoughts properly. "You have some very strange ideas about what parents are like, mate. And I get that. Really. But please don't tell anyone in my family about the trouble we get into."

"Same here," said Hermione. "Our adventures should stay between us."

Silence followed her words, which rang in all their minds after they had been spoken. A strange sense of togetherness came between them, as if they were the only relevant people in the world.

"All right," said Harry. "Unless we all decide to share some information, everything we do will stay between us." He spoke solemnly, to show that what he said was a promise.

"I agree," said Ron. "No one else needs to know."

They exchanged silent glances, and broke out in conspiratorial giggles. It made them feel giddy, the secret pact between them. They felt connected in the way they had after the troll attack – a unified force against their attackers.

Harry felt a strange sort of happiness. His friends were keeping their mutual secrets – even from their own families – the people they loved most – so that they belonged only to the three of them. Harry felt a little guilty for being so possessive of them, but the guilt, and the worry in the back of his mind that they might be way over their heads, so separate from tempering adult influence, were eclipsed by the joy and feeling of belonging at finally having someone of his own.

That evening, the three friends were sitting in a quiet corner in the library. Harry and Ron were finishing the homework they should have done over the break, and Hermione was pretending to read, ignoring their pleas for help.

"How about this, Hermione," said a desperate Ron. "We play a game of chess. If I win, you let me copy four inches –three," he amended at her outraged look. "And if you win... Well, we can think of something. I could even take notes in class tomorrow," he suggested with a grimace, "and share them with you, so you won't have to. Come on, don't you want to find out if I learned anything from that book you gave me?"

Hermione shot him a withering look. "No. You can't just copy a portion of my essay at random. You need to actually understand what you're talking about. And I've seen the sorts of notes you take."

With that, she turned back to her book, though Harry had to wonder how she could possibly read with her nose so high up in the air. A few minutes later, she frowned and set the book down, then answered Ron's hopeful look with another withering one of her own.

"When you mentioned my present, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you," she began.

Both boys were eager for an interruption, and immediately set their quills down.

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

Hermione looked around, to make sure they were not being overheard. "I met Neville and his gran on Platform 9¾ this morning. We were a bit early, because I was worried I might be late-" She scowled as the boys rolled their eyes. "And plenty of people were already there, by the way, including Neville and his gran. He was talking to Ernie MacMillan and a few other Hufflepuffs, but he waved me over when he saw me. Did you know he's related to Ernie?"

"He isn't," said Ron. "Well, not really. I think they might be distant cousins by marriage, or something-"

"They were talking about a mutual relative – Great Uncle Ernest-"

"Yeah, I don't think he's actually related to Neville. I might be off a little, but I think he's something like Neville's Great Uncle Algie's wife's brother. Or something."

Hermione drew back. "Really? And you know that?"

Ron shrugged. "As I was telling Harry the other day, there really aren't that many of us around."

"Well, Neville just wanted to thank me for the present – a naïve and foolish thing to do, as it turned out. The others wanted to know what he was talking about and as soon as your name came up, Harry," Hermione grimaced and shot her friend a sympathetic look, "everyone was impressed – even the parents – in a not entirely flattering way. They just couldn't see why you'd want to befriend Neville. His gran sort of tried to defend him, but mostly she kept telling him that as his parents' son he should be a bit more – I don't know – a bit less the way he is, I guess.

"And then Ernie said he'd already known that from his great uncle Ernest who had been with the Longbottoms for Christmas dinner, and that the whole party had also been surprised when the owl had arrived.

"Oh, and apparently you keep to yourself, Harry. That seems to be the general opinion about you. The grown-ups wanted to know how I had befriended you, and if it was because I'm muggleborn, and you were raised by muggles-"

Both Harry and Hermione decided by unspoken agreement not to look at Ron at that point, who, unsurprisingly, had turned quite red by then.

"Anyway, I came up with some answers that didn't involve any trolls, and even Neville had enough sense not to mention three headed dogs-" She shot Harry a pointed look at that.

"All right, I said it won't happen again," mumbled Harry.

"So that's what I wanted to tell you. I thought sending Neville a present would be a nice idea, but now I think we should be apologising for it, not having him thank us-"

"Don't be silly, Hermione," said Ron. "You think what they said to Neville was odd or rude or even insulting, but it wasn't really. It's just how everyone talks about Harry. Neither of you seem to realise just how-"

"Has anyone ever said those kinds of things to you?" Hermione asked him shrewdly.

Ron blushed. "It hasn't been so bad yet. Haven't gone home yet, have I? I still have the big Weasley family get-together to look forward to. Nothing like being put through the ringer by Aunt Muriel," he joked.

Harry ducked his head, not knowing what to say. He thought a change of topic might be called for at that point.

"So," said Hermione on an exhale. "Any other things that didn't go as planned? What about the other presents we sent? Were they-"

"Those went well," Harry reassured her. "McGonagall actually thanked us during the Christmas dinner the next day – said she was impressed by our use of transfiguration for the packaging – and Snape looked murderous when she said that-"

"Also, Percy said he was impressed, and the twins wouldn't let me live it down for a week," complained Ron.

"Hagrid also said thank-you," Harry went on. "And the last time we went down to his hut, the tea was all gone, so he must have liked it all right."

"That's good, then," said Hermione, but she did not seem entirely reassured. "Harry..." she began after some hesitation. "That book I sent – that might have been, maybe, out of line."

Harry could not believe his ears. Was Hermione admitting to having been wrong about something for once?

"I thought about it again during the train journey today," she went on, "and I realised I really don't know what your family's like. I mean, you've mentioned some really – odd – things about them – and I know you don't want to talk about them," she added hastily, seeing his expression. "So I won't ask. I just – I guess I wanted to say sorry-"

Both boys sat forward, surprised that she had actually said the word.

"-for just sending it to you," she went on as if she had not noticed their reaction. "And you can keep it, of course-"

"Hermione, that actually wasn't such a horrible idea after all, I think. I mean, I sent it to him-"

"You did?"

"Yeah. He actually sent a reply back with Hedwig, and she came back in one piece – which I guess, is the most important thing."

"So how did he like it?"

"Now you sound a bit too optimistic. He complained about it, said it didn't explain things-"

"What, he had already read it?"

Harry started at that.

"Told you he's jealous," said Ron. "He read the book right away, and still wants to know more about magic-"

"Of course," agreed Hermione. "It must be hard, knowing magic is real, but not being part of the magical world."

Harry opened his mouth to deny that, but then he thought better of it. That was a thought he would need to mull over, he decided.


	5. Chapter 5

The new term soon picked up, with increased school work, and also increased quidditch practice for Harry. The only difference to the previous term was the exchange of letters with Dudley, something that had not deteriorated as Harry had suspected. Instead, the letters between them were getting longer and more frequent.

After the start of term, Harry had written to let his cousin know he was willing to answer any questions Dudley might have, and Hermione had been so supportive, she had even lent her _Hogwarts: A History, _with strict instructions that Dudley could only keep it for a week, and that it better be returned undamaged.

From the few hints he let drop in his letters, Harry had surmised that his muggle cousin had some difficulties keeping the magical correspondence under wraps at Smeltings, but he seemed willing to go through a lot of trouble – buying owl treats, waking up at unreasonable hours to avoid being seen, and so on – to keep up the correspondence.

At least Harry's letters were written with pen on paper now – and would not look too suspicious if Dudley was ever seen holding them. He had sent a notebook after Harry had written that pens did not write too well on parchment. Then he had wanted to know why witches and wizards did not use paper – the first question about his world Harry did not have an immediate answer to. Hermione had become curious, which of course meant she had to find the answer, and so she had asked McGonagall.

The answer, it turned out, was that the existing charms – for spelling correction, translation, anti-cheating, and so on – were designed for parchments, and would need to be modified for paper. Hermione then had had a lengthy discussion with an intrigued Percy about whether such a thing could be done.

The whole thing had sounded awfully dull to Harry, especially as it seemed that it would take quite a bit of work and was not something that school students would be able to do. Percy, he suspected, was the only one who could find that discussion entertaining, but it almost seemed worth it, seeing the usually pompous Weasley deeming Ron and his friends worth his time, even if his lengthy explanations even managed to bore Hermione eventually.

Then the second Hogsmeade weekend arrived, and for all that Wood's training schedule had started to border on obsessive, he finally relented and allowed the older members of the team to go to Hogsmeade. Harry asked Fred and George to buy a bunch of sweets for him – something they did in exchange for testing some of their newly-acquired Zonko's merchandise on him. They slipped in a handful of Zonko's specialty sweets with the bunch he had ordered. Harry ended up eating one of the Hiccough Sweets in McGonagall's class, and changing his hair colour with each loud hiccough. The professor finally got so exasperated that Harry was dismissed from class - not an altogether tragic result. Harry even thought he might have spotted a nostalgic, fond smile on the usually strict professor's lips, but decided he must have been wrong.

In his next letter to his cousin, Harry sent a bar of Honeyduke's – "Ron says it's the best chocolate in the world" – curious to know whether the muggle boy's love for food – especially sweets – would overcome any remaining fear of magic. The chocolate went down surprisingly well, and in his reply Dudley sent some Lion bars.

_...The magic chocolate was good, I'll give you that. But tell your wizard freind hes wrong. Its not the best in the world. Theres plenty of exelent chocolate in the muggle world... _wrote Dudley, and the spelling was nowhere as bad as he was capable of producing.

Ron was willing to admit there might be some truth to Dudley's words after trying the chocolate bars. But always willing to accept a challenge, he suggested they send Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans next, as he was sure there was nothing similar in the muggle world. Harry agreed, and even found out some interesting facts about the sweet to write Dudley. It turned out, even Ron had not known that Bertie Bott had created them by accident, as no one had attempted to reduce food in size before, rather than try to expand or multiply it. Bertie Bott's were not magical as such, but magic was necessary to produce them – which, in some sense, made them the first magical food Dudley would receive.

Harry was curious how long Dudley's fascination with magic would last, but he was aware that for the most part finding answers to the muggle boy's questions and discovering new bits of information about the magical world to write about served to distract him from a lack of progress in his search for Flamel.

The trio had by then almost given up on finding out who he was. Harry could not remember where he had read the name before, and even though they still searched the library books every day, the only useful information they had found had been of the sort to amuse Dudley. Nothing on Flamel, however.

Then, another bit of bad news was added to that. Following a particularly wet and muddy training session, Wood informed the quidditch team that Snape would be refereeing the next match.

It was when Harry had hurried back to the common room to inform his friends – whose most helpful suggestion was that he should break his leg – that they finally had a break in their investigation. Neville came in, still suffering from Malfoy's jinx, and Harry offered him his last chocolate frog as consolation after Hermione had ended the spell. It was from that chocolate frog's Famous Wizard Card that they found out Flamel's identity, and finally figured out what was hidden in the castle: the Philosopher's Stone.

That evening, after finishing the Cadbury's chocolate bar Dudley had sent, Harry began another lengthy letter to his cousin, and for the first time he actually told him about some of the strange things that had been going on at Hogwarts.

The next morning, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they would do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It was when Ron said he would buy his own quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

Harry frowned. "You know," he began, "Maybe we can do something."

"Yes?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Well, if we make sure whoever was casting the counter-curse last time will be there tomorrow-"

"Counter-curse?" Hermione asked louder than strictly necessary, enough for Quirrel to pause in his stuttering and halt the chalk on the blackboard, which was at moment occupied with completing a gruesome drawing of a werewolf bite.

"Counter-curse? Whatever makes you think someone was casting a counter-curse?" asked Hermione more quietly a little later, once Quirrel had gone back to his monotonous stuttering.

"That book you sent me, Hermione. _Curses and Counter-Curses_. The way my broom would jerk instead of going one way or another – that's exactly what a counter-curse is supposed to look like. Without someone countering it, a curse should have thrown me off sooner. I think."

"Well, did it say how a counter-curse is cast?" asked Hermione. "I mean, how are we supposed to guess-"

"The same as a curse. You need eye-contact, and everything."

"But that's what I was looking for when you were being cursed," said Hermione. "That's how I found Snape. I'm sure I'd have noticed if someone else was doing the same."

"She's right," said Ron. "I took the binoculars from her after she left to deal with Snape. Everyone was looking at you, but no one was muttering and staring as obsessively as Snape."

The three teens exchanged frustrated looks, willing each other to think of a solution.

"Could it have been non-verbal?" suggested Hermione.

"But that book said you're not supposed to do that. Counter-curses are more difficult than curses, and non-verbal ones wouldn't be strong enough."

"I know," Hermione almost whined out of frustration. "But if you're sure someone was casting a counter-curse-"

"Quirrel," Ron said suddenly.

Harry and Hermione immediately looked towards their teacher, and noticed he had stopped talking again. Harry suddenly felt a sharp pain in his scar, and could not suppress a half-muffled exclamation. Quirrel turned around.

"Did someone s-say s-s-something?" he asked.

Hermione turned concerned eyes towards Harry, but his pain had passed, and he shook his head.

When no one replied, Quirrel turned back to his lesson. The three teens stopped talking after that, trying to follow what they were being taught instead. Harry supposed it was because of the harsh topic they had just been discussing, and the mood had stayed with him, but something about the way Quirrel kept talking about subduing werewolves suddenly struck him as cruel. He shook off the feeling and went back to taking notes.

"How embarrassing," moaned Hermione after class. "We were caught chatting during a lesson. I didn't even notice Quirrel had heard us until you said so, Ron."

"What?" Ron frowned, and then he caught on. "No, that's not – I meant it was Quirrel. He was the one casting the counter-curse."

"Really? Are you sure?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Ron nodded slowly. "I think so, yeah. You ran into him, remember? When you were-"

"Oh! On my way to Snape-"

"Yes. It was – odd. That's why I remembered. Everyone kept looking at Harry, but Quirrel was twisted sideways, and seemed distracted. His face was turned away from me, so I'm not sure if he was muttering, but he definitely had his wand out."

"But if he wasn't looking at Harry..."

"I know! Maybe he was jinxing Snape directly," suggested Harry.

"I guess."

"Maybe." His friends agreed hesitantly.

They decided to find out if their suspicion was correct, and if so, if Quirrel would be watching the next quidditch match. Even though he did not seem the strongest defender one could wish for, he was their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and if his counter-curses could stop Snape, Harry wanted him in the stands again during his next match.

That afternoon, Harry tried to find an opportunity to talk to Quirrel, but it proved more tricky than he had anticipated. He only saw the professor at dinner, and he left before his students could casually walk up to him, trying hard not to be obvious about it. Instead, Snape kept running into them wherever they went – something Harry had noticed the potions professor doing more than once in recent weeks. They were no more successful during breakfast the next morning, which was unfortunate since they did not have any classes with Quirrel that day.

Disappointed, Harry conceded defeat for the moment and opened Dudley's letter instead, which had arrived with the owl post during breakfast, and let his friends read over his shoulder, before they had to face the day's lessons.

_Hi, Harry, _wrote Dudley.

_What's the matter with your profesors, are they all crazy? Just saying. Mine are crazy, to, but at least they only want me to work harder. Me and Piers copied the same homework from Artie – he's the nerd in our dorm – the other day, and Artie changed his later, but me and Piers were in trouble. We have to explane to him to change ours to next time. And I mean explane, I'm not going to beat him up or anything, cos I'm not a bully, so stop saying that._

_So what about that Snape guy? Are you sure hes really trying to steal some magic thing, or maybe he hates you cos your awful in his class? Are you awful in his class? You're lessons sound pretty dificult, so I wouldnt be surprised._

_It would be pretty cool if youre teacher were a thief, tho. Maybe you could catch him, that would be even cooler. Don't know if you can, tho. You could be wrong about the whole thing. I'm always wrong when I try to guess in a whodunit. Its never who I suspect._

_Good luck!_

_Dudley_

Ignoring Hermione's attempts to correct the spelling, Harry stuffed the letter in his bag, and tried not to think about that last comment. But something kept nagging at his subconscious.

The trio tried again to talk to Quirrel again after classes, but did not get a chance until the afternoon, right before the match. They saw him leave the great hall with a group of teachers who looked like they were already heading over to the quidditch pitch. Harry exchanged hopeful looks with his friends, but then they noticed Quirrel separate from the group. They followed him.

As soon as they were away from other people, he slowed down, allowing the students to catch up with him. Harry noticed his friends were as surprised as he was. Quirrel had not seemed aware that they were following him.

"Professor, are you going to the quidditch match today?" Harry went straight to the point.

"The match?" Quirrel sounded surprised. "Trying to c-collect more f-fans before the m-match, Mr P-P-Potter?" Despite the wide, disarming smile, Harry balked at the question.

"Er, no," he answered a lot more carefully. "I just think it might be an interesting match – like last time," he hinted. "Or even more interesting. Everyone wants to be there, it seems. Professor Snape's even refereeing. And you might..." He broke off, unwilling to accuse Snape outright. If Ron was right about Quirrel casting the counter-curse, that should be enough, anyway, he thought.

Quirrel made a show of looking around himself, as if to see if anyone was near them. When he briefly turned his back to them, Harry again felt his scar hurt. But it was gone before he had time to even raise his hand to touch it. Quirrel smiled again, and this time it seemed entirely genuine.

"Mr P-Potter, I'm s-sure there will be none of the _excitement_ from last time." He gave Harry a knowing look, but then followed it up with, "You're m-much b-b-better at handling your broom by now, I'm su-sure-"

Harry wanted to to say his broom handling skills had been just fine last time as well, that it had been someone else – most likely Snape – jinxing his broom, but Quirrel went on before he could protest.

"A-and whatever problem there may be, all th-the other p-p-professors will be there, not just Professor Snape. Just in case. Even P-Professor Dumb-Dumbledore. Don't worry. And don't be l-late," he said, and the three friends realised they had been dismissed.

Dumbledore was indeed there, much to Harry's relief, which, he suspected, explained Snape's dark mood. He did not think too much of Quirrel's absence after that, and instead concentrated on winning the game. He did so in record time, and without any jinxes thrown at his broom.

Then Harry spotted Snape as he was returning his broom to the shed, and followed to overhear his exchange with Quirrel. Confused and worried, he collected his two friends who were still celebrating his quidditch victory and Draco's black eye, courtesy of Ron, and took them to an empty room so they would not be overheard. He then proceeded to fill them in on what he had heard.

"So Professor Snape really is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and Fluffy and Quirrel's protection are the only things in this way," Hermione summed it up.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron made the gloomy prediction entirely too cheerfully.

Harry groaned with frustration. "But that doesn't make any sense!" There had been something about Quirrel's behaviour that afternoon before the match. It had made Harry feel uncomfortable. He had begun questioning Quirrel, and the more he thought about it, the more he suspected something about the professor's behaviour did not add up.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"Why did Snape think Quirrel might help him?"

"You mean the bit about where his loyalties lie?" asked Ron. "That probably didn't mean anything. Snape was trying to scare him, that's all."

"But then why wasn't he at the quidditch pitch today?" asked Hermione.

"Exactly!" said Harry. "That's what's been bothering me. Quirrel said he had no idea what Snape was talking about, but he did miss the match, and Snape seemed to think he was trying to get past Fluffy at that time."

"But he can't be helping Snape!" exclaimed Hermione. "He cursed Snape to save you, Harry-"

"So we're agreed he did that? Even though he wouldn't come out and say it-"

Both his friends nodded.

"Yes. He sounded a bit – odd – today, but he seemed to know exactly what we were talking about," said Hermione. "It must have been him. And then, today, he refused to tell Snape how to get past his protection of the stone."

"Maybe he's just pretending to be helping Snape," suggested Ron. "Because he's scared of him, or wants to know what the old bat's up to-"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished him.

"But he didn't seem to be," replied Harry. "He tried his best to pretend he had no idea what Snape was talking about. And yet, he stayed in the castle, and if Snape has talked to him before – and it sounded as if he had – then he must have realised Snape would assume he had gone to the third-floor corridor."

"Maybe-" began Hermione, but then fell silent, trying to formulate a credible argument.

"Maybe your cousin's right, Harry, and we got it all wrong," tittered Ron. "Maybe it's Quirrel who's trying to steal the stone, and Snape who's warning him against it." His laughter turned into nervous chuckles at the bewildered, speechless faces of his friends. "That was just a joke," he said.

A couple forced laughs joined his. "Yeah, of course," his friends agreed, but then fell silent again.

"That's nonsense!" Harry finally said forcefully, after a few aborted attempts at speech from his friends.

"It is. Except it makes an awful lot of sense," said Hermione. "And I can't think of a good reason why it can't be true."

"Well, let's see. Let's see." Harry took on the challenge. "Snape-" He wanted to say, "hates me," but instead decided to go with, "Snape tried to get past Fluffy at Halloween."

"Yes, that was our main argument against him-" said Hermione.

"Other than him being a git and hating Harry," supplied Ron helpfully.

"But it was Quirrel who told everyone about the troll," Hermione went on as if she had not been interrupted. "Maybe Snape wanted to check up on it-"

"Quirrel passed out, Hermione. He wouldn't have been much of a threat-"

"And Snape went to Filch to have his wound treated. That struck me as odd before, and now that I think about it, if he was trying to steal the stone, he'd hardly go around telling everyone about it-"

"Not everyone, just Filch. Who knows, maybe they're working together. It would fit, wouldn't it? They're both gits-" Harry tried to defend his argument, even though his conviction was slipping.

"The first time we got lost, Harry. Quirrel just happened to be passing by the third-floor corridor when he rescued us from Filch."

"Well, Filch was there, too!"

"Well, all right," said Ron. "To be honest, I'd much rather it were Snape, too. He's a right git, and if we can prove he's a criminal, too, we'll be rid of him once and for all."

But that was not how it worked, and they all knew it, too.

"That day, when there was a break-in at Gringotts, I met Quirrel in the Leaky Cauldron," admitted Harry. "But that's all coincidence! Snape hates me," he said it after all. "It makes a lot more sense that he'd try to kill me. Quirrel doesn't hate me-"

"Well, not to say your life isn't important, Harry, but maybe that attack on you had nothing to do with the stone," said Hermione sensibly.

Harry wanted to argue. It seemed too much of a coincidence, especially with the stone almost getting stolen exactly on the day he had returned to the magical world. But when he thought back, the first hint that Snape hated him had been his scar hurting. And now the same had happened around Quirrel as well. Twice. Come to think of it, that first time Snape had looked at him from behind Quirrel.

Harry shook his head to get rid of the strange thoughts. "All right. Fine. Maybe it's Quirrel who's after the stone, and Snape who's trying to stop him, while at the same time trying to kill me, and Quirrel trying to protect me. If you really think that sounds any more reasonable-"

"I didn't say that!" argued Hermione. "I just think we don't know anything for sure yet."

"We need to investigate more," said Ron, and did not sound sad about it at all.

His friends nodded resolutely.


End file.
